


In the Dark

by fayzalmoonbeam



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M, Stiff Upper Lip, Words have power, captain loosens up sometimes, ghostly longing, julian gets it, possibly a little OOC for them both, sort of unrequited love, the brain is the centre of all pleasure, what if, what might have been
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:15:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fayzalmoonbeam/pseuds/fayzalmoonbeam
Summary: Words have the power to entrance and envelop. On a warm, sultry summer night, Captain needs words when there's nothing else to give him release, although he doesn't know it. Julian, the great weaver of words, helps him to come to terms with the frustrations of being attracted to someone who can't see you. Julian creates an illusion that the Captain really, really needs.
Relationships: Adam/The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	In the Dark

It’s late. So late that Captain’s stopped listening to the ticking of the clock in the hall, and the hooting of the owl from the top of the nearest chestnut tree in the driveway. And, as ever, he can’t sleep. Sleep, of course, is a misnomer for what ghosts actually do; a kind of spiritual stasis is more accurate, perhaps.

During the day, he can keep on top of things; by barking orders, running races, organising the others into less of a rabble, intervening (interfering?) in the daily lives of the most recent, alive inhabitants of Button House, he doesn’t give himself time to think. To _feel._ But when darkness falls and the ghosts all go their separate ways to their separate beds, to pretend to sleep, the thoughts intrude.

It’s been getting worse since the film crew descended. He hasn’t felt that jolt, that immediate, visceral sting of desire in decades. Can ghosts be visceral? He still doesn’t know. But what he does know is that every time he sees Adam, that tall, authoritative, straight-backed film director, who commands his army as well as any general, Captain is lost. Thoughts crowd his mind; passions kept as tightly under wraps as the most secret of military plans are given, just for a few moments, free rein. Thoughts of what it would be like to brush against Adam in the tightness of the film set, to actually feel the man’s breath against his cheek as he’s giving instructions, rather than just imagining it. It takes him back to someone else he loved, once, long, long ago. For a split second, he imagines falling in love again.

He lies on top of the quilt. It’s a hot night, he knows, even though he can’t actually feel the summer warmth that still permeates, although the sun set hours ago. Old habits die hard, and his dress jacket, shirt, boots, socks, and trousers are neatly hung up and paired off to one side of the room. The window facing the bed is open, and, had Captain been alive, he’d have felt the whisper of a warm breeze over his skin. He’s lying barefoot and exposed in just his underclothes; as far as he’s aware, none of the other ghostly residents of Button House has ever seen him without his uniform, though he does remove it every night. Had they seen him like this, bare arms and legs, and unsocked feet, it would, to him, be the epitome of awkwardness.

There’s a gentle knock at his bedroom door that brings him back from his thoughts. Instantly alert, he sits up abruptly, trying to reach for his trousers before whoever it is comes in. Who knocks in this house anyway? Alison? Mike? Some hope. As he’s contemplating this, Julian Fawcett drifts through the door in one fluid motion, eyebrows raising at the state of Captain’s undress.

‘So you do take that uniform off sometimes,’ Julian says, but there’s only gentle teasing in his voice, not the braying, bullying, bombastic tone that so often seems to punctuate his speech. He stands there for a moment, seemingly unsure if he’s welcome in Captain’s space. ‘I couldn’t sleep either,’ he says apologetically. ‘Thought I’d see if you were awake to share the insomnia. This film crew’s messing with my biorhythms.’

Captain has no idea what biorhythms are, or even if you still have them when you’re dead, but he finds himself glad of the intrusion, surprisingly. ‘Have a seat,’ he says. ‘Might as well sit out the rest of the night together.’

Julian smiles gratefully and sinks down into the armchair by the bed. Captain shuffles away a little as Julian spreads his knees a little too far into his personal space, but doesn’t try to put his own trousers on; given Julian’s perpetual state of undress, it might seem rude to reach for his own garments.

They talk idly for a few minutes about the film, Alison’s seeming infatuation with the lead actor, and the huge amount of equipment needed to film such a thing. The conversation, inevitably, turns to the rest of the crew.

‘Of course, back in the eighties, I was offered a few quid for the _Antiques Roadshow_ to come and film at Button House. Would have sorted out the roof and then some, but sadly the, er, unpleasantness, broke and that was the end of that.’ Julian smiles ruefully. ‘Shame, really. These film crew chaps are a lot more interesting to watch than the shows they make.’

‘Yes,’ Captain says unguardedly, the lateness of the hour lowering his usual defences. ‘They are.’

He sees Julian giving him a swift, sidelong glance, and the ghost of a blush warms his face. ‘I mean, their work is fascinating. Adam, that director fellow, has got everyone in the palm of his, er, hand.’

‘Quite,’ Julian replies, a trace of gentle amusement in his response.

A small silence descends. Captain, distracted by the notion of Adam’s hands, lapses into thoughts that are just on the edges of unsuitable for a man of his position. Any man of his time, in fact.

‘You find him, er, it, quite fascinating, don’t you?’ Julian asks. ‘Almost like commanding a platoon, I suppose.’

Captain nods. ‘Yes. Many parallels indeed. And he, Adam, has a presence. He’d have done rather well in the war, I fancy.’

Julian smothers a snort of laughter. Captain turns his face away, stung. He forgets how not everyone likes a war metaphor, although Julian started it.

‘It’s all right, you know,’ Julian says, eventually, almost by way of mitigation. ‘I won’t say anything.’

‘About what?’ Captain asks, his ethereal heart beating a little faster.

‘About how you feel about…him.’

Captain snaps his head back to Julian, expecting mockery, but finds only gentleness.

‘Loved a lot of people in my time, Captain, not all of them women. Know it can be…tricky.’

Captain’s heart feels like it’s going to burst from his non-existent chest. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Julian. Really, this is most improper.’

‘All right, all right,’ Julian holds up a hand. ‘But…for the record…I think, if Adam could see you, he’d…feel the same way.’

Captain leans back against the pillows. ‘But he can’t.’

There’s something about the hour of the night that invites confidences. And Captain feels it, feels more open. After a long pause, and much against his better judgment, he takes a deep breath. ‘What makes you say that, Julian?’

‘Do you trust me, Captain?’

‘No,’ Captain responds immediately. ‘But then I’ve never trusted politicians.’

Julian shakes his head and grins briefly. ‘Never mind.’ He stands up.

‘Wait,’ Captain replies. ‘For tonight…perhaps I do. After all, you’ve been out of parliament for thirty years. Perhaps you’ve reformed.’

Julian pauses, then, to the Captain’s surprise, sits back down. ‘You can lie down if you want,’ Julian says. ‘That headboard doesn’t look the most comfortable of things.’

Captain deliberates for a moment, then turns on his side, back to Julian. ‘Why did you ask if I trusted you?’

‘I want to tell you how things might have been,’ Julian says gently. ‘If you were alive, and if Adam could really see you.’

Captain’s breath hitches in his throat. ‘All right,’ he murmurs. ‘But, I’m warning you, Julian, if this comes back to haunt me…’

‘It won’t. I promise.’

‘Then tell me,’ Captain murmurs. ‘Please.’

There’s a long, loaded pause before Julian speaks again.

‘If you were alive, and Adam could see you, it wouldn’t take long,’ Julian begins, settling into his chair and half closing his eyes. ‘The attraction would be immediate, and absolute.’

Captain’s heart beats faster again. Such as it is.

‘After a long day on set, working together, making magical things happen on film, you’d finally be alone, perhaps in this very bedroom,’ Julian continues. ‘You’d have talked long into the night, maybe had a drink or two to smooth the way.’

Captain lets out a sigh as he imagines a world where this could be true; where he and Adam would have been able to discuss the film, the tech specs, the process, and then…themselves.

Julian’s voice lowers, until it is a soft, gentle, whisper. ‘Who knows who would begin it, but gradually, gently, you find your hands touching as you both reach for the same copy of the next day’s shooting schedule. His hand is over yours, and there’s a long, anticipatory pause.’

Captain shifts position on the bed, the thought of Adam’s hands sending a shiver down his spine.

‘His fingertips brush your arm, running up your shoulder to your neck, and sliding over your cheek. It’s all absolutely still, and the touch of his hand makes you shiver. He draws you towards him, until you’re within a breath of each other, and when you can’t bear it any longer and you’re starting to ache for the want of it, he kisses you.’

‘Julian, stop…’ Captain whispers, but it’s a futile request. He knows it’s wrong to feel this way, but the utterly forbidden, loin churning excitement that Julian’s words are evoking is too strong to ignore. It’s been so long. Too long. He feels himself powerless against Julian’s seductive, insistent words.

‘You press closer to him, your bodies insistent and needing so badly the release of each other, and soon, you’re lying together on this very bed, kissing and touching like nothing in the world matters.’ Julian shifts slightly in the chair, and Captain knows he’s being watched. He should stop this, he thinks, before he gives in to the abandonment that words, just words are creating, but he’s as helpless against the tide as a swimmer caught in an undertow. He wants to drown in the fantasy, to drink it in, to believe in it for a little while longer.

‘Soon, there are no more layers between you, and this warm, feather quilt hides you from the world,’ Julian continues. ‘Adam’s lying behind you, stroking long, tantalising lengths down your body as you writhe under his touch. He’s whispering gently into your ear, sweet, aching nonsense about the sensations you’re both going to feel, how you’re going to get there.’

‘Yes…’ Captain’s eyes are closed, and if he lets go and imagines hard enough, he can feel the ghost of Adam’s hands running over his waist, down his back, and then back up, over the front of his thighs and between his legs, teasing his hardened, sensitised body to distraction, unleashing sensations that have been dormant for decades. ‘Oh, yes…’ He’s hungry for more; for Julian’s words to continue. For the dream to fulfil itself. ‘And then?’

‘When you’re both breathing heavily, and more than ready, you turn, and you see the look in his eyes. He wants you, needs you, as much as you need him. As your mouths touch again, your hands caress each other, stroking and rising, until that hard, tingling ache you feel, that drives you on, becomes a deep, throbbing, pulsing cliff edge. You teeter there, blissful, arching your back in submission, until you fall, wrapping yourselves up in each other until stillness returns.’

‘Oh God…’ Captain groans as the throb in Julian’s voice connects intimately to his groin. He feels the release, without a fingertip being laid on him, of years and years and years of pent up frustration and emotion, and the deep, thudding pleasure washes over him, even as Julian ends the story.

There’s a silence between them once again as they both return to the here and now. Captain reflects, foggily, that it was no wonder Julian rose to such dizzy heights as a politician. He has a voice that could command anyone to do anything. He can feel the jagged edges of shame and self-loathing starting to intrude, and he tries to push them firmly away. He wants to enjoy this moment just a little bit longer.

‘It’s not a sin, you know,’ Julian says after a short while, as if reading Captain’s mind. ‘What you feel. Not any more. Never was, really.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Captain says wearily. ‘I mean, nothing matters now, does it?’ He gives a bitter little laugh. ‘Not as if we can do anything about…what you’ve just said.’

‘I wish I could do something for you,’ Julian replies. ‘But, perhaps one day you’ll realise that, even though we’re dead, we do still matter. What we feel now matters just as it did when we were alive.’ He stands, and, after a moment’s hesitation, drops a hand to Captain’s shoulder. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’

‘Goodnight, Julian,’ Captain says. He’s surprised that, for the first time since he can remember, he actually feels tired. As Julian lopes towards the bedroom door, Captain rolls over in the bed. ‘Julian?’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you.’

Julian gives a broad, tired smile. ‘Pleasure’s all mine, old chap.’ He glides through the door and suddenly, Captain is alone again. He knows that time has moved on, that, should he have been alive today, he would have been freer to feel, to love, to hope, but the battle inside him has been raging a long time. Perhaps, though, with Julian’s help, tonight has been the start of a tentative internal peace. If the war isn’t over, he thinks as he falls asleep, at least the guns have been stilled for a while.


End file.
